


End of the Knife

by RenjiFan (NotSoLittleLight)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoLittleLight/pseuds/RenjiFan
Summary: Jensen's always used cooking as a distraction.





	End of the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally getting around to archiving my old fics from LJ on here. This was originally posted in November 2008. Hope you enjoy.

The knife hits the board with a soft  _clack clack_  as he dices the onion in front of him. He stares blankly as the pieces become smaller under his hands, the knife moving in a smooth motion over and over, his hand guiding it over and through on auto-pilot.

This is what he does when he needs a distraction. Ever since he got his first place and picked up that stupid red cook-book from the Thrift store down the street, he’s been addicted to the prep and pacing, the formulation, the timing of the ingredients and the almost soothing process it all entails. It takes concentration, allows for an almost meditative state.

And Jensen really needs the distraction tonight.

He slides his knife under the small pieces, and runs his hand down the length of the blade, pushing them into the small bowl. A quick glance at the clock and he sighs as he sees it’s only been ten minutes since the last time he checked. Jared won’t be home for another hour.

He grabs the green pepper, still damp from his rinsing and digs the blade into the top, circling around the stem, hauling it out and tossing it into the trash. He positions the green bell on his board and slices downward and gasps, his finger shooting to his mouth as the sear of pain shoots up his arm like a bolt of lightning.

He pulls his finger from his mouth tentatively, his eyes cast downward to catch a glimpse of the cut he’s inflicted on himself and he can feel the stubborn burn behind his eyes. The frustration and fear that’s been building since he left set comes boiling over at his failure to even  _cook_  right and he’s clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth as he steps to the sink.

The water burns over the wound, a piece of his skin hanging precariously from the quarter-inch gash in his index finger. He hisses at the sting, the water flushing away the residue from the knife and sliding it further down the cut, the essence of onion burning his flesh as it washes away with the blood still flowing freely from his body.

He stands there, stares at the water as it pours over his hand and his nostrils flare with anger. At himself. At how  _stupid_  he was today, how he failed at the only thing in his life that has ever  _meant_  anything.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He closes his eyes and shakes his head against the thought. No, he didn’t mean to do it. He  _knew_  it would fuck things up, knew Jared could never forgive him.

“Goddammit,” he chokes, turning off the water before bracing himself with his uninjured hand on the sink. His head falls, his eyes shut tightly against the reality of what he’s done.

_I’ve ruined everything_ , he thinks and his finger throbs in time with his aching heart.

He hadn’t meant to tell Jared. Hadn’t meant to scream it out, angry and self-destructive and pissed off that Jared couldn’t just fucking  _see_ it and leave him alone. Couldn’t just  _not_  touch him and worry about him and ask ”What’s wrong?” when Jensen couldn’t hold back his jealousy at seeing Jared and Sandy when they reunited after being split for months.

How was he supposed to react, seeing her there in his trailer?  _Like a fucking_ friend, he degrades himself. No friend would be angry. They’d be intrigued, concerned, but Jensen… Jensen had been so fucking angry, because  _he_  was the one who had been with Jared, who had consoled him after the break-up, who  _moved in_  with him, who was with him  _every fucking day_ , who  _cared_.

There’s wetness falling from his cheeks but he doesn’t care. He’s screwed it all up. He’s given himself away and there’s no going back and when Jared comes home, he knows he’ll ask him to leave, tell him it’s impossible to stay the way they’ve been now that he  _knows_.

“Jen?”

He jumps, startled by the voice so close to him. How did…?

“What the hell, man? You’re bleeding!” And Jared is suddenly right _there_  and pulling the towel from the hook beside the stove and hauling Jensen’s hand to his chest to wrap it.

Jensen stares at his hand through the wetness stuck in his lashes, too shocked by Jared’s sudden presence to do much else. Just watches as Jared wraps his finger in the small terry towel, watches the way his fingers curl around the molded cloth, the way his other hand wraps around the remainder of Jensen’s damp fist.

“Jen?” Jared’s voice sounds far away and Jensen can’t bring himself to look up, can’t find his way out of this haze he’s in. He’s going to lose him, going to lose everything, and he can’t bring himself to face it. He’s too scared,  _been_  too scared for so long now, of this, of the rejection he knows is coming.

“Jensen.”

He shakes his head, his eyes closing and pushing the remnants of his traitorous tears out over onto his cheeks and he curses, tries to pull away.

But Jared isn’t letting go and he jerks Jensen toward him and Jensen looks up at him in surprise and what he sees, the fury in Jared’s eyes... He chokes on the last bit of sanity he has left and he feels his mouth tremble with the words as he breathes, “I’m sorry.”

“You just took off,” Jared says quietly, but Jensen can hear the anger in his voice, the tightness in Jared’s throat that he has to push past to actually speak. “You say that… that  _shit_  and then  _take off?!_ ” And his grip on Jensen’s wrist tightens.

Jensen’s staring holes into the floor and he hates himself for how weak he feels, how much of a disappointment he’s proven himself to be, to himself and to Jared, his friend, who trusted him…

“Stupid, stubborn-” Jared growls out and then Jensen’s cringing as his chin is gripped and forced upward, and then…

Then there’s warmth on his trembling lips, an angry press of Jared’s mouth and he whimpers as he feels Jared release his wrist, his hands coming up to cup Jensen’s jaw and pull him closer.

“Jen…” Jared pulls back long enough to breathe the name against his mouth and then he’s pressing forward again, his tongue pushing forward and Jensen parts his lips as he grips Jared’s shoulder with his uninjured hand, kissing him back with every ounce of desperation he’s felt for the last 3 hours, the last 3 years.

He doesn’t understand how this is happening and he’s scared that he’s going to wake up, or Jared will pull away and say it’s all a prank. It would kill him, would break the little bit of him that’s left after the last 3 hours of just  _knowing_  he was going to lose his best friend.

Jared pulls away and Jensen can’t bring himself to open his eyes, still too scared it’s not real. Jared’s hands are warm against his throat as his thumbs rake across his jawline and he can  _feel_  Jared’s eyes on him and his stomach feels sick, a lump in his raw throat.

“You can’t just tell someone you’re in love with them and take off, Jensen,” Jared whispers and Jensen can hear the smile in his voice. He takes a deep breath, that smile giving him the courage to finally open his eyes and when he does, he’s stricken breathless at the look on Jared’s face.

His eyes are the color of the sea at dusk, a blue green with slivers of black and in them… God, in his eyes is the purest look of adoration, affection… of  _love_  and Jensen feels something akin to a sob and a relieved laugh break from his constricted throat. Jared’s still smiling as he pulls him forward, their eyes open and staring into one another’s as their lips press against each other gently this time, softly, like lovers.

“You can’t just say you’re in love,” he continues, lips brushing against Jensen’s as he speaks. “And not give me the chance to say it back.”


End file.
